Alistair was idly flipping pages in a book he'd found in Arl Eamon's library, something about the history of the Bannorn, but he couldn't concentrate. Every sense was strained, listening for the sound of Una and the others returning from Howe's. He wasn't sure who he was most upset with, Una or himself, for letting her talk him into remaining here. So what if it was a trap? If she was going to face down Howe, she needed him there at her side.
He got up, leaving the book on the table, and began pacing the library for the twentieth time. Morrigan, cross-legged in the corner, glanced at him in irritation.
"Must you make such a production of every movement? She survived without you for many years, no doubt one afternoon will not kill her."
Happy to have a distraction as satisfying as yelling at Morrigan, Alistair turned to the witch. "Won't kill her, is that what you said? She's facing the man who slaughtered her entire family!"
"Yes, which is what she has said many times she wanted to do. She is more than capable of doing it without you." Humor glinted in Morrigan's eyes. "Or is that what you fear, that she can manage, and do so quite capably, without you? That perhaps there is no real reason for her to saddle herself with a great foolish lummox such as yourself?"
She was trying to bait him, he reminded himself. She was trying to make him angry. Holding on to his temper with both hands, he forced himself to speak quietly. "I want to be there to support her. I know she can do it on her own, but if it had been my choice, I would have gone to help her however I could. I know the very concept of being helpful, or being concerned about someone else, is foreign to you, so I won't bother trying to explain it."
Alistair turned his back on the witch, opting for another attempt to leaf through the book instead of more pacing, which would bring him back near her corner again. As he was trying to focus on the words, he heard a soft sound, and looked up to see Zevran standing in front of him.
"Do you have to sneak up on people like that? Maker!" Then he saw the look on the elf's face. "What happened? Where is she?"
Morrigan was on her feet, too, looking at Zevran with an expression that bore a suspicious resemblance to concern.
"The Grey Warden has been captured by the dark-haired warrior who stands at the right hand of the Regent," Zevran said rapidly, his accent thickened by emotion. "I did not see where she was taken, as I left as soon as I saw what was going to occur."
"You mean you just abandoned her there, in the middle of a fight with Ser Cauthrien?"
Zevran regarded him coldly. "I mean that Una surrendered herself rather than fight; we had the Queen with us, and she chose to allow the Queen's identity to remain concealed rather than risk having her injured in a battle. It would have been quite the scrap, too," he mused. "There were a great many men on Cauthrien's side, and we were wearied from our trip through Arl Howe's dungeons."
Alistair was on his feet, his heart pounding. "Did Cauthrien accept her surrender? Where are the others?"
"I did not stay to see what transpired. I knew that Una would need the assistance of the entire team, and I came here as quickly as I could."
"Well, we need to go find her!"
"I am perfectly in agreement with you. Where would you suggest we look?"
Alistair had no idea, and that Zevran knew he had no idea was clear from the superior look on the elf's face.
"In that case, I will find Leliana and the Arl and hope that one of them has a greater knowledge of Denerim's prisons than you do, my friend." With a mocking bow, Zevran left the room, but Alistair hurried after him.
As they reached the first floor, the door opened, and Wynne came in, followed by Oghren and a person in the armor of the Arl of Denerim. She took her helm off, patting her blonde braids to be sure they were in place, then looked around her. "Where is Arl Eamon Guerrin?" she asked, her voice precise and very cold.
"We were just looking for him," Alistair said. "Who are you?"
"Anora, Queen of Ferelden."
His eyebrows flew up. This was the queen? Cailan's wife? She seemed so ... young, so pretty. "Your Majesty," he stammered. "I am Alistair, Grey Warden of Ferelden." He watched her face when he gave his name, and wasn't sure if he was relieved or disappointed when she didn't seem familiar with it. Maybe Cailan had never told her he had a half-brother. Maybe Cailan had never known. Either way, he was of no use to her other than in his capacity as Grey Warden, he told himself, firmly pushing aside any question of whether he would try to push her off her throne, or whether he should.
Anora nodded. "I was told there were two of you." Her blue eyes appraised him carefully, and Alistair had the impression that he hadn't come off that well.
"The other Grey Warden," Zevran interjected. "Where is she?"
"Ser Cauthrien took her to Fort Drakon." Clearly, Anora expected a greater reaction, so she said it again, with emphasis. "Fort Drakon. The most secure dungeon in the city; nay, the country." There was more than a hint of pride in her tone.
Alistair wasn't sure what he was supposed to say, so he settled on, "Huh." Not the most intelligent remark, but it didn't commit him to anything, either.
"Knocked the Warden in the head," Oghren growled. "Nearly went after 'er right then."
"She hit Una? After she surrendered?" Alistair didn't blame Oghren; even hearing about it second-hand, he was seeing red. He looked at Anora. "Why?"
Her Majesty shrugged. "To be certain she wouldn't try to escape, I imagine." She looked supremely unconcerned, and Alistair decided he didn't like her at all.
"Let's go, then," he said to the others, and was startled when all three formed a line in front of him.
"Nope," Oghren said succinctly.
"I'm going to get her out of there! You can't mean to just sit there and let her rot inside a prison cell. Anyone remember the Blight? The Archdemon? Those ring a bell? We need her!" Alistair tried to combat the rising panic inside him, thinking of her helpless in some dungeon, alone and frightened and no doubt remembering what had happened to her parents, and he thought he would burst if he didn't do something.
"We know we need her," Wynne said with a patience that if anything further maddened him. "But you are not going."
"Of course I am!"
"The last thing she wants is for you to run into the prison and get yourself caught as well. Think, man!" Zevran snapped. "Do not be an impulsive fool. Do you not see that this is what they want? Both of you, trapped together? Because then they can blame the Grey Wardens for everything and there is no one to say anything against them."
"He is right." Leliana appeared from the shadows, her face partially obscured by her hood. "Una did not take you into Arl Howe's because she thought it too dangerous for the two of you to be there together, in case it was a trap. As we see, she was absolutely right. This, too, is no doubt a trap—they dangle her before you and assume that you will go in after her, and then they will, as Zevran says, have both of you." She patted Alistair on the arm. "You need not worry; we will get her out. I have ... experience in such things. You, on the other hand, must stay here and entertain our charming queen." A very faint edge had crept into her voice, and Alistair thought he understood—he was to keep the queen occupied so that she couldn't give anyone any warnings.
He didn't like it, but he knew better than to argue—when the rest of the group all agreed on something, they were generally right.
Leliana nodded at him in approval. "Zevran, you and I and Wynne will go to Fort Drakon and see what we can accomplish."
"You know where it is?" the elf asked her.
"I have some familiarity with it, yes." She turned to Oghren. "Keep him here."
Oghren grinned widely at Alistair. "My soddin' pleasure, Red."
A wet nose appeared, snuffling at Leliana's hand and prodding her meaningfully. She looked down at the dog doubtfully. "I believe you would attract a great deal of attention, Grenli."
The mabari woofed insistently, and Leliana frowned thoughtfully down at him.
"I suppose you are correct—a mabari is a formidable foe, after all, and you have, indeed, earned the right. Very well. You may accompany us."
Grenli sat back, giving another woof, this one sounding vindicated.
Struggling to keep his fear, and his jealousy, under control, Alistair snapped, "Isn't that dandy. Now, will you all just go already?"
Leliana patted him on the arm. "Patience. We will find her."
And they departed, leaving Alistair to stare helplessly at Queen Anora, who seemed mostly annoyed that no one was making a fuss over her. Well, Alistair wouldn't, either, he told himself.
Then he thought of Una, and what she would do if she were here, and he sighed and said, "So, Your Highness, um ... Can I get you something to eat?"
He took her arm and led her to the dining room, trying to cover his nearly overwhelming anxiety with his limited stock of small talk.